


From Different Worlds, From Different Centuries.

by Tiger_Tiger_Burning_Bright



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec's POV, First Meetings, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Magnus POV, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, not gonna lie its a bit angsty, sorry about that, soulmate study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-19 11:46:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17001060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiger_Tiger_Burning_Bright/pseuds/Tiger_Tiger_Burning_Bright
Summary: Everyone in the Shadow World is born with a soul mark that evolves the closer you get to your match, only completing when you finally touch. How do Alec and Magnus feel about their marks? What will happen when they finally meet?Or a character study into Magnus and Alec’s complicated history with their marks.





	1. Magnus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gyoro_and_Ururun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyoro_and_Ururun/gifts).



> So here we go a Malec Secret Santa present. To be honest it's more of a character study than anything so I hope you like it (paces anxiously)

Magnus Bane didn’t know anything about soulmarks as child. He’d always thought that the greyish smudge that sat at the base of his thumb was a birthmark, an odd coloured one, but a birthmark nonetheless. As a small child growing up in a tiny Indonesian village, there were all kinds of things Magnus Bane didn't know.

The knowledge of soulmarks, and many other things, would come with time and under far more traumatic circumstances.

The first time he heard about soulmarks was when he first met his real father. Magnus had been lost and alone for nearly a year, scrabbling to survive on the streets of Jakarta, hiding from the world. When the tall, elegantly dressed man first approached, he’d run and hidden as best he could, confused and frightened. Why would anyone want to find him? He was a monster. His own parents had told him so; his mother the day before he’d found her hanging lifeless in the barn, his step-father before he’d tried to drown him in the stream that ran beside the only home he’d ever known. As he’d struggled for air, Magnus had lashed out with all the magic he didn't even know he had and, as he watched the man he’d known as his father burn, Magnus knew they were right.

And so, as the man approached, he’d hidden behind a pile of rubbish in a darkened corner of an alley as his heart beat out of his chest in fear of what the man would do to him, or worse, what Magnus would to do him without meaning to.

The man’s ornate black walking cane tapped incessantly on the sunbaked ground as he moved inexorably closer. Magnus cowered deeper into the shadows, his hands held defensively in front of him, sparks of bright blue magic bursting on his fingertips.

Everything went silent for a while and, as Magnus held his breath, the only sound he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. Then, the next moment, everything changed. There, looking at him intently, was a pair of bright amber cat’s eyes, an exact mirror of his own.

“My beautiful boy,” the man had murmured, the hint of a smile on his lips and his right eye narrowed. “So full of power already.”

That alone had given Magnus pause and, without any conscious thought, he’d tentatively extended his right hand. The man had grasped it, almost reverentially, rubbing over the discoloured mark with the pad of his thumb.

“So strong even the angels themselves cannot despoil you. You truly are my son.” The man had smiled, a powerful and dangerous thing. Magnus had gazed at him in a mixture of confusion and awe. Without any conscious thought he’d got to his feet and followed the man, the man who looked like him, the man he hoped would protect him.

Over the years the pair spent together, his father, Asmodeus, had explained many things about the new world Magnus found himself inhabiting. Amongst those things was the concept of soulmarks. The marks, Asmodeus had told him, were placed by the angels themselves on every soul in the Shadow World and would only grow into their full glory when you met your one true mate. 

Magnus still remembered scratching at the amorphous grey smudge on the back of his hand, tears pricking at his eyes. It was too faint, barely there and small, hardly a mark at all.

“But you my son are too powerful for such frivolities. Too great to be tethered to just one soul,” Asmodeus had said as he moved Magnus’ fingers away from the mark. “The angels tried to brand you and yet they failed. Their magic was not strong enough to taint the heir to the throne of Edom.”

It took Magnus years to realise how wrong his father was about so many things, too many years, but some things he’d learnt from Asmodeus remained ingrained. What he’d been told about his soulmark lingered and mutated, becoming something darker over time. Magnus began to believe that his barely present mark meant, that after all he’d done, the angels themselves had deemed him unworthy of love, undeserving.

The years became decades, decades became centuries. With every year that passed, Magnus became more convinced he was right as the mark remained the same, unchanging. He consoled himself with a stream of lovers and adventures, the only people he allowed close were a select group of friends. For a while he would linger in the warmth of a lover’s embrace but in the blink of an eye they would be gone. It was enough, it had to be, for what was the point of longing for something he could never have.

Around him the world changed and Magnus watched with fascination as the mundanes came up with more and more innovations, trains and metal ships opening up the world. Magnus embraced it all, revelling in the speed of change until that too began to lose its lustre.

By the 19th century, Magnus had found his way to London and it was here he met the vampire, Camille Belcourt. Camille was as wild as she was cruel but, like him, she had no time for soulmates. Early on, Magnus had noticed a fully formed soul mark on her wrist, a fang and a claw surrounded by leaves. Camille never spoke about it and Magnus never asked.

Their relationship burned brightly, as passionate as it was destructive and Magnus let himself fall. By the late 1870s, Magnus had fully given her his heart, convinced that she loved him in return. He bought them a townhouse in London and ignored her many absences. Camille was a free spirit, he reasoned, of course she would disappear for days or even months on end. To wile away the hours while Camille was away, Magnus became friendly with the Shadowhunters of the London Academy, spending many hours tinkering with inventions with Henry Branwell. He even managed to be cordial to the two young Lightwood brothers who would occasionally visit, despite their father’s rather notorious reputation.

All these years the mark on his hand had been ignored until one night something caught his eye. At some point, although Magnus didn't know when, the mark had grown, darkening almost imperceptibly and seeming to become pointed.

Despite his better judgement, Magnus allowed himself to hope. Perhaps it was a sign that he and Camille were soulmates after all. That despite warring with his blood of his father, which coursed through his veins, the mark of the angels had fought through, if only faintly.

It didn't take long for him to realise how wrong he was and Magnus swore, as he nursed the pieces of his broken heart, to never allow himself to dream of finding one true love ever again.

The years crept inexorably by and Magnus found himself in New York. The city was bright and vibrant, filled with hope, and each day Magnus fell more in love with it. His old friend and fellow warlock, Catarina Loss, soon joined him, taking up a position in one of the local hospitals, caring for those the mundanes feared to be near.

For a while, life was perfect, a heady mix of parties and an endless procession of lovers. It couldn't last.

When news of the attacks by Valentine Morgenstern and his followers, The Circle, on innocent downworlders came to Magnus’ ear, he made a decision. New York was his city, the Downworlders that lived there a part of his life. He resolved to stay and fight.

Over the next few years, The Circle only grew in power. One night they attacked a group of werewolves, torturing them for crimes they had never committed. Magnus had survived the ensuing fight, the Shadowhunters of the New York Institute had not.

That night, as Magnus lay in his bath frantically scrubbing the blood of others off his skin, as if mere soap could rid him of the taint of that evening, he noticed it. The mark, that damned mark that had taunted him his entire life, had changed. Where before it had been little more than a dark smudge now it had sharp lines and was darker still, an almost metallic black. The mark, although still unfinished had  definitely taken on a triangular shape.

As Magnus dried himself off, all he felt was anger. He’d seen those with angel blood slaughter their own kind and torture those they deemed beneath them. He had no time for the games of angels, wanting nothing to do to with them. He conjured a pair of fingerless gloves and covered the mark.

The years that followed were hard, many were lost before The Circle was defeated and even then the victory was hollow. The Lightwoods, who had helped to slaughter the previous residents, were handed the keys to the New York Institute as if they had done nothing wrong. Magnus became the High Warlock of Brooklyn, determined to not let the horrors of the uprising sully his city again.

With his new position came respect and power but there were downsides too. With his new responsibilities came the need to deal with the city’s Shadowhunters. He tried to keep such interactions to a minimum, sometimes he had no choice. Every time he stepped foot into the hallowed halls of the Institute, it was a painful reminder of a blinded werewolf child from that night so many years ago. Magnus would plaster on a polite smile and put all his energy into creating wards so strong it would be years before he needed to return.

Although he tried to ignore it, banish it from his mind, the soulmark, for so many years dormant, began to change, to solidify. There had been a time when Magnus had longed for such a change but now, after all he’d seen, he hated it. Hated the way its triangular shape elongated and became more defined and how a small but undeniable spike began to form at its base.

The mark was on the verge of fully emerging. It would take the return of an old foe and the reappearance of a child he had watched grow into adulthood for it to complete. The wheels were already in motion.

Magnus didn't know that yet. 

 


	2. Alec

As a small boy, Alec Lightwood had loved the mark on the back of his left hand. Although it wasn't really any particular shape, it was a brilliant amber colour with flecks of green that caught the sunlight. When his baby sister Isabelle’s mark had emerged, a simple, smudgy brown blob, Alec loved his even more. It made him feel special and strong that the angels had blessed him with a mark that looked as if it was made of antique gold. Despite his parents frowns, he would show his mark off to the world, finding it too dazzling to hide.

He was eight years old when the truth began to dawn on him. Other boys his age were starting to look at girls with interest rather than distaste. Alec didn't feel the same. Perhaps, he’d thought, he’d feel the same given time. Surely he must, anything else would be unnatural. He tried not to think about it, instead focusing all his energy on practicing with his new bow and arrows. Even at such a young age, Alec was determined to be the best soldier he could possibly be.

Everything continued as it always had, Alec’s feelings didn't change until the day his parents brought home a young orphan, Jace Wayland, who they said would now be living with them. One look and Alec was enraptured with the younger boy. Jace was agile and fierce and already more than proficient with all sorts of blades. Sometimes when they trained together, Jace’s blonde hair would catch the light and glimmer like molten gold. On days like that, Alec would run back to his room, his heart dropping when he saw his mark hadn't changed. In the middle of the night, when he couldn't sleep, he’d rationalize that maybe, just maybe, despite the fact that he and Jace had already touched, their marks hadn't bloomed because they weren't old enough yet.

Alec spent hours in the library researching soulmarks. He found stories of people bonded to vampires or werewolves whose marks had only bloomed when their mate had finally been turned. It made sense, he supposed, after all, mundanes couldn't carry marks. There were other stories though, of those who’d met their mates whilst still children and carried their fully formed mark throughout their lives. Those were the stories Alec chose to ignore but there was one thing even Alec couldn't deny, however hard he tried. He had a soulmate somewhere and he knew with a cold and chilling certainty that mate would be a man. If he ever met that mate, he would lose everything, his family, his career and maybe even his life.

By twelve years old, Alec had taken to covering his mark with thick, black leather fingerless gloves, as if afraid its bright colours would show through anything else. He was an archer, he’d tell people with his trademark seriousness, he had to protect his hands. No one knew he kept those damned gloves on all the time, only taking them off when he washed and, even then, averting his eyes from the mark that signalled his downfall.

Despite his best intentions, from time to time Alec would catch sight of it and gradually it began to change. The gold he had once loved began to form into a perfect circle, a triangle of white at either side. Every time he noticed a change, Alec would panic, pacing the Institute’s corridors, frantically checking the new recruits, dreading that one of them was the reason for his mark evolving. Then, for no reason, the mark would stop changing, staying the same for sometimes years on end. Alec could never work out why.

He was seventeen when Jace suggested they become parabatai. That night he had cried himself to sleep. Although he’d always known in his heart of hearts that Jace wasn't his soulmate, now all glimmers of hope were finally erased. If they were old enough to link their souls, then they were certainly old enough for their marks to be fully formed. Even years later Alec would remember peeling off his worn leather gloves and looking at the mark properly. The amber circle was now surrounded by a faint black line, making it resemble an eye but it was still blurry and incomplete. He’d expected nothing else, Jace’s mark, a dark brown line on his forearm, hadn't even shifted once in all the years he’d known him.

Throughout the parabatai ceremony, Alec masked his feeling with a cold and stoic expression. Jace was already spoken of as the strongest Shadowhunter of his generation. It was an honour to be his parabatai. But Jace didn't know the dark secret festering in Alec’s heart. If he did, Alec wondered how he’d react.

By the time he was eighteen, Alec had become the dependable Clave soldier his parents had always wanted him to be, following the letter of the law almost obsessively and putting all thoughts of soulmates firmly out of his mind. Jace and Isabelle were harder to control. Neither of their marks had completed but they didn't seem to care, instead spending their time sneaking out of the Institute and breaking hearts all over the city.

“If I ever meet my soulmate, at least I’ll know what I’m doing,” Jace had bragged one night when he’d come back from a night of partying, more than a little drunk and sporting lipstick marks all over his neck. “You should try it ,Alec. I mean, you're a catch, any guy would be lucky to have you.”

Alec had frozen to the spot, unable to speak for the sick feeling in his gut.

“We’ve always known, Alec. We love you, no matter what,” Izzy had said softly, clearly more sober than Jace.

“It’ll matter to them,” Alec choked out, ashen-faced, before running to his room. 

They never spoke of it again.

It was so easy for them, Alec would think in his darkest hours, so easy. They’d never understand. Perhaps if they’d seen his mark it would've explained, if only a little, but Alec kept it hidden. Over the years it had evolved still further and, although still indistinct, there was no mistaking what it was, an eye, a glowing, ethereal eye. The eye of a Downworlder.

Alec closed himself off to everyone but Izzy and Jace, not wanting to interact with anyone else and certainly not get close enough to risk physical contact. He had a soulmate somewhere near, he knew that, a soulmate he never wanted to meet. A soulmate that was some sort of cosmic curse, not only a man but someone of a different race.

So the years passed and Alec dedicated himself to protecting Izzy and Jace. He didn't need a soulmate, he convinced himself, his parents, after all, weren't soulmates and they seemed content with their lot. Izzy and Jace hadn't found their perfect matches and, as time went on, Alec became convinced that the whole thing was little more than superstition. He was determined to have a choice, to settle down and have a family and, above all else, continue to follow the path dictated to him by his duty to the Clave. With every moment that passed he hated his mark even more resolving to ignore what it was telling him.

Everything changed one fateful night, although all Alec knew at the time was that his carefully crafted life had been disturbed. It had started like any other. Reports of a spate of mundanes drained of all their blood had reached the attention of the Institute. Only a little digging revealed a more sinister plot. The deaths couldn’t, like Alec had expected, be attributed to a rogue vampire. Instead, there was talk of demons trading human blood with an as yet unidentified group.

Alec had wanted to inform the Clave, wait for instructions, as was his way. Jace and Izzy had other plans and, as usual, Alec was powerless to resist. 

What should've been a routine surveillance mission of a shapeshifting demon, albeit unsanctioned by the Clave, had disintegrated before his eyes. All because of a girl, a fiery red haired girl who had come crashing into a situation she knew nothing about, without any care for the consequences. Were that not bad enough, as soon as the girl touched Jace, Alec had watched in horror as his parabatai’s mark burst into life. Although partially obscured by his jacket, there was no mistaking it. Jace had met his soulmate.

The next few days were the worst Alec could remember. Jace strutted through the Institute, sleeves rolled up, putting the perfectly crafted paintbrush gracing his arm on full display. Alec felt like he was watching his life crumble around him.

Unsanctioned mission followed unsanctioned mission and there wasn't a single thing Alec could do to stop it. Whatever Jace’s soulmate, Clary Fray, needed, his parabatai would gladly give. Jace, who had previously laughed at the concept, was now a wholehearted supporter of soulmarks. Not even the revelation that the redhead was the daughter of Valentine Morgenstern could make him see reason. Jace, who had always had a reckless streak, just kept taking more and more risks.

Izzy was no help either. Although she looked at him with sympathy he didn't want or need, she was excited by the new arrival. Worse still, her mark had changed, practically now fully formed, on the verge of completion. 

As the trio fell further and further down the rabbit hole that was Clary Fray’s life, Alec began to lose hope that things could ever get better. The frown on his face became fixed and immovable, his shoulders more hunched. He didn't want to know what disaster they would be led into next, and yet he couldn't let his family face it alone.

If Alec had hated soulmarks before, now he loathed them. He wanted nothing more than to take his seraph blade and carve it out of his hand. There was no time for such dramatics though. His siblings needed his clear headed protection more than ever.

It was the thought running through his head as he followed them, his ever-present scowl more prominent than ever, to what he thought was a ridiculously dangerous meeting in a notorious Downworlder bar. 


	3. Completion

There was a moment, a millisecond, before his world changed that Magnus saw the convoluted path that had led him to this point. Every disappointment, every hurt and every time he hadn't thought had mattered.

He understood how every step had led him here, every choice that had turned his path toward its inevitable end; helping Jocelyn Fairchild, hiding the warlocks and finally allowing his curiosity to be piqued by an invitation from a group of young Shadowhunters. All these seemingly unrelated things leading to a single point.

That moment as he waited on the edge of an ornately drawn summoning circle, right hand extended, it felt as if time stood still.

Perhaps if he'd realised sooner, he could've fought the inevitability of it all. Perhaps a part of him still wanted to. It was far too late.

Almost in  slow motion, the undeniably beautiful, dark haired Shadowhunter reached his hand out to meet his. It was the moment that the man he had flirted with outrageously transformed from a bit of light hearted fun into something far more significant, more dangerous.

Their hands met and their eyes locked simultaneously. Neither of them had to look at their joined hands to know what was happening; the fire running up their arms was enough to tell them. Their soulmarks were now complete.

The look in the Shadowhunter’s eyes, shock, horror and disbelief, perfectly mirrored the emotions running through Magnus’ own mind. They both stood frozen for a second, and then, all hell broke loose.

The Shadowhunter, whose name he’d only just learnt was Alec, let go of his hand as if burnt and ran from the room. Around him, Magnus was dimly aware of the remaining three Shadowhunters all speaking at once. Clary screaming about how they needed to summon the demon, apparently oblivious to the monumental thing that had just happened. The blonde one, whose name Magnus hadn’t even bothered to retain, was trying to restrain her and talk her down. Isabelle, the young woman he’d liked enough to actually remember her name, was calling after her brother but hesitating to follow him. Magnus’ gut twisted with dread. Were it not bad enough that his soulmate was a Shadowhunter, and a Lightwood at that, but now three other people had born witness to the cosmic joke that had just been played on him.

It was only when he locked eyes with Isabelle that Magnus knew what he needed to do. The young Shadowhunter stood looking at him, one eyebrow slightly raised and a hand on her hip, her very expression a silent challenge.

Magnus Bane had never in his life run away from difficult situations, he wasn't about to start now.

…….

Somehow Alec had found himself on a balcony, he wasn't really sure how. All he’d known was that he had to get out of the situation as soon as possible.

Beneath him, the glittering lights of Brooklyn twinkled. The streets were filled with mundanes, running around like ants, living their ordinary little lives with no soulmarks, no higher power telling them who they should be with. Alec had never envied them more.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but look at his hand. If it wasn't for what he knew it meant for him, he’d probably think his completed mark was beautiful. It was undeniable that it was; a perfect cat’s eye with dark fluid lines surrounding it and mesmerising blue swirls framing it all. Gritting his teeth, Alec tore his eyes away, hands gripping hard on the cold stone of the balcony wall and gazing into the city with a thousand yard stare.

“I'm guessing by your reaction I'm the last person you want to see,” Magnus said, taking up position on Alec’s right side.

Alec had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even heard him approach. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Magnus had mimicked his position, hands on the wall and staring out at the city rather than looking at him.

“However, I do feel we should talk,” Magnus continued, his voice strangely calming.

“I don't know what you want from me,” Alec muttered under his breath, regretting the words almost as soon as they slipped out.

“Nothing,” Magnus sighed. Alec inclined his head to look at Magnus’ profile highlighted against the city lights.

“I don't understand.” There was no denying the answer stung more than a little, although why that was, Alec didn't want to examine to closely. After all, he’d been the one who had run.

As Alec watched closely, Magnus rolled his shoulders gracefully and turned to face him.

“What is there to understand? Let me ask you something, Alexander. Do you believe that because we are apparently soulmates that we should be forced to be together? Do you think we should have no choice in that?” Magnus said and Alec felt some of the pressure lifting off his shoulders, if only a little. “I have lived a long time and throughout all those centuries the one thing I have always held on to is everyone’s right to self determination.”

Alec looked at Magnus closely, squinting one eye. There was no mistaking the resolve in Magnus’ squared shoulders and set jaw. It was exactly what Alec had wanted to hear and yet the words cut him to the quick. 

“Alexander, I know, better than most, how living your life out and proud as I do is sometimes the hardest thing in the world. I have no urge to force you into that because of some stupid mark.” Magnus’ expression softened and despite himself Alec smiled a little. Why that was he couldn't say, partly relief and, strangely, for some reason because he felt in his bones he could trust Magnus.

“So you’d just walk away?” Alec wasn't sure what answer he wanted and yet he felt compelled to ask.

“If that’s what you want.”

“I don't know. I'm not sure.” Alec ran his fingers through his hair anxiously as he turned back to stare at the city streets. The silence stretched between them.

“You know, oftentimes I look at the mundanes and think how much luckier they are than us. They get to stumble through life, making mistakes and finding love on their own terms. No marks, no guidance, just chance and trial and error,” Magnus continued conversationally. “Sometimes I think we could take a leaf out of their book.”

Alec watched the people moving around the streets below and hummed in agreement.

“In fact I think we should,” Magnus replied, his voice firmer than before. “I would like to get to know you better, Alexander Lightwood. No pressure, no one need know. Decide for ourselves if the angels are right.”

For a second, Alec allowed himself a glimmer of hope. However much he pretended otherwise, there was something about Magnus that was fascinating. Something that went beyond his magnetic personality and dazzling good looks. Alec would be a fool to pretend that the thought of getting to know Magnus better didn't set his pulse racing, let alone that, in return, Magnus wanted to get to know him, of all people.

It was only when his eyes drifted down to the mark extending up from Magnus’ right hand, an arrow, perfect in every detail, that reality crashed down on him. 

“It couldn't work.” Alec hung his head, defeat pouring into his every word.

“Why not? I see no reason why anyone need know until, or in fact if, we are both ready,” Magnus replied without hesitation.

“Because they know,” Alec said, not even bothering to explain who he meant. He didn't need to.

“Yes they do. I may not know them very well but I feel sure they would keep your secret.” Magnus glanced back at him and hope burst forth in Alec’s chest.

“If all else fails, I happen to be very talented with memory spells, just ask Ms Fray, and I also happen to know an extremely powerful memory demon,” Magnus added with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “So, Alexander Lightwood, would you like to go out for a drink sometime?”

For the first time in what felt like years, Alec laughed, a deep soul-cleansing laugh. The joy of sheer possibility filled him. It struck him, it could work, it was possible. Knowing who the angels had guided him to Alec found himself hoping that the future would turn out brighter than he had ever dared to dream.


End file.
